


I Would Say I'm Sorry, but That Would Imply That I Am

by victor_fucking_hugo



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Flirting, Bad Jokes, Cynic Grantaire, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, Fluff and Angst, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, Grantaire Angst, Grantaire is also bad at feelings, M/M, a little fluff, eventual epilogue, if you count not wanting to be tickled as a consent issue, terrible political jokes, the very slightest of consent issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victor_fucking_hugo/pseuds/victor_fucking_hugo
Summary: “Don’t.” Enjolras’s hissed, his voice low and serious. He didn’t sound angry anymore--well, Enjolras always sounded angry about something or another, but there was something about his voice that made Grantaire take a daring step forward, his eyes suddenly following him curiously.“Why?” Grantaire asked, feeling kind of stupid for asking Enjolras why he didn’t want him of all people to jab at him like some crazy person. Still, the question couldn’t be taken back and the room remained silent.“I just--” Enjolras opened his mouth, before snapping it closed. “Don’t do….that.”Grantaire was smiling now, sort of. He was amused at least as he took another step towards Enjolras. He chuckled a bit, “What? Do…?”Enjolras’ once angry and incredibly focused eyes grew wide as Grantaire slowly lifted up his hand.Grantaire didn't mean to expose Enjolras’ ‘secret’. If one could call it a secret anyway, considering he was fairly certain even Enjolras didn’t know about it either. Still, the feeling stayed the same, he felt bad. He didn’t mean to show Enjolras’ weakness in front of the whole Les Amis on purpose. Does he have any regrets? Well, that was a different story. But still--he felt bad, alright?





	

Grantaire didn't mean to expose Enjolras’  _ ‘secret’.  _ If one could call it a secret anyway, considering he was fairly certain even Enjolras didn’t know about it either. Still, the feeling stayed the same, he felt  _ bad.  _ He didn’t mean to show Enjolras’ weakness in front of the whole Les Amis  _ on purpose.  _ Does he have any regrets? Well, that was a different story. But still--he felt bad, alright?

 

That didn't go to say that he made any attempt at fix or even just put a stop to whatever was happening once it did, but Grantaire was only human. He had humanly needs and urges and Enjolras’ best kept secret just happened to be one of the many things he couldn’t avoid.

 

It happened, strangely enough, on a dark and dreary night in the Musain. It was hardly past seven o’clock and still the sun had been completely absent from the sky for hours, leaving the streets vacant and pitch black. It was cold out, being the middle of fucking winter and all, so most of the Les Amis were just grateful that Enjolras had decided to stay inside for the meeting instead of attempting to spread word about  _ The Cause  _ on the streets. Joly probably wouldn’t have had it anyway and insisted each person wore at least two hefty winter coats and nine sets of mittens and gloves before he even thought about letting them take one step outside. Well, he would’ve, if he was there that night.

 

It began, as all good things do, as an argument. Unsurprisingly, he and Enjolras were the two in the argument, although Grantaire would argue that Enjolras started it, the little prick. The argument had started as snippy remarks and small scoffs from Grantaire’s end, and slowly escalated into slightly raised voices and Enjolras’ eyes looking down on him like he was the lowest scum of the earth. It was a horrible look, but Enjolras looked so beautiful doing it that Grantaire almost didn’t mind. Relished in it, in fact.

 

This fight was different though, mostly because of pure coincidence. Instead of sitting in the back corner of the Musain, a bottle of something foul but needed firmly in his hand and a pencil hovering over a scrap of napkin in the other, Grantaire was standing up and almost sober.  _ Almost.  _ He was leaning against the sturdy Musain walls waiting for Bossuet to return from his trip from the counter which he had  _ insisted  _ on making by himself. Something about wanting to say hi to the feisty, dark-skinned waitress who worked there for Joly who was at home sick (Ironic, yes). Grantaire had let him, somewhat reluctantly due to Bossuet’s incomparable clumsiness and horrible luck, but insisted on at least waiting near the back of the room in case Bossuet somehow managed to destroy the five bottles he was supposedly bringing over. Grantaire tried not to doubt his ability to do so without leaving a mess, he really did.

 

Enjolras was still talking, rather passionately he might add, and hadn’t stopped since the meeting first came about nearly twenty five minutes ago. When didn't Enjolras speak passionately for at least twenty five minutes though? Enjolras’ insatiable optimism had no ‘off switch’, if he did Grantaire had no doubt that he would've found it by now, therefore it was no surprise that it didn’t have a time limit either. Grantaire even bet once that Enjolras first words he ever spoke were so beautiful and inspiring that they could easily still be quoted by anyone trying to prove a point today (Enjolras had scowled at him for a solid twenty seconds when he informed him about this. It was great.). 

 

Enjolras had stood up too at the head of the table across the room, his hair in perfect curls running across the sides of his face and his bright red sweater was a deep contrast to the dark brown walls behind him. He was illuminated, a bright light in the otherwise dreary and plain room. His face was scrunched up in what Grantaire could only assume was angry passion, or just plain anger about something he had no control over no matter how long he yelled about it, and the words spilling past Enjolras’ lips only confirmed Grantaire’s suspicions. He was bitching about the electoral process again.  _ Of course he was. _

 

Grantaire probably could’ve tried a little harder to stifle the groan that resonated from deep within his throat. He didn’t.

 

Enjolras stopped immediately, his eyes wavering up towards Grantaire as if he had summoned him. His eyes were ablaze, like someone had come and set them on fire, yet still so blue that Grantaire found himself suddenly littered with goosebumps and frozen in place with just the one glance. Grantaire couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face--these were the moments Grantaire lived for, craved, why he bothered even coming to these meetings, besides to hang out with his friends of course. It was Enjolras though that was his main reason, the driving force behind it all. His fearsome gaze and even more terrifying sense of naive hope made Grantaire feel like he was whole--like if there was ever something to believe in in this unreliable and damned world it would be  _ him. _

 

“Do you have something you would like to share,  _ Grantaire?”  _ Enjolras said, as calming as he probably could at that point. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Combeferre shooting Enjolras a stern gaze that read  _ please don’t do anything stupid.  _ Well, too late for that. Enjolras already had that look in his eyes that Grantaire was more than familiar with. He was ready to fight. Grantaire returned his gaze with a devilish smile reading probably something like  _ fucking square up bitch.  _

 

It didn’t take long for the conversation to take off, both he and Enjolras throwing facts at one another all while consciously contradicting the other’s previous statement. The discussion suddenly transformed into an argument though, both of them raising their voices an octave or two higher than what the cafe probably deemed respectable and their words slowly began overlapping one another as they fought for control. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes into their argument when Enjolras took the first step forward, his shoulders perfectly aligned with Grantaire’s, and was quickly followed by a harsh comment directed at Grantaire. 

 

Grantaire’s eyes widened and he stopped speaking for a fraction of a second as he took in Enjolras’ words. Let them sink in and processed the change of words, mood, and tone. Well, it  was simple enough to say that Enjolras was  _ definitely _ not talking about the unfairness and corruption of the electoral process anymore, but instead his statement made everyone’s eyes turn towards Grantaire’s usual seat that already had two empty beer cans on the table next to it. 

 

And that was when the simple political disagreement turned into a full on battle between the two parties, each never failing or holding back to point out the flaws of the other. The drinking, the naiveness, the childish antics, the misguided leadership led by nothing but false hope--all were set down on the table before them and the room became eerily silent, except for of course the screaming between Enjolras and Grantaire that seemed to resonate around the room, drawing in attention from all occupants of the cafe. It was a miracle they hadn't been banned from the Musain yet. He couldn't imagine why, not when him and Enjolras were pulling this shit week after week. 

 

All in the heat of the moment, Grantaire didn’t realize his feet had been moving against his better judgement until he was inches away from Enjolras.  _ Fucking inches.  _ He could smell Enjolras’ breath as he leaned down to yell at Grantaire, his eyes growing more determined and frustrated with every word. Grantaire was still yelling, but mostly just to distract himself from the man looming over him and the sudden realization of the predicament he had somehow gotten himself into.

 

It wasn’t until Enjolras’ took another step forward that Grantaire lost his wits. He hadn’t meant to push him, of course he hadn’t and he didn’t, but he  _ did  _ want Enjolras either closer,  _ much closer than what would be deemed sensible, _ or on the other side of the room--the latter seemed like the best way to go at that point. He had simply lifted up his hand to push an accusing finger at Enjolras’ chest, hopefully getting the point across--even to the notoriously stubborn Enjolras--that he wanted him to take a single step back. Or twenty, you know whatever worked. Instead though, between the mixture of sneers and insults they kept ruthlessly throwing at one another, Grantaire’s aim proved to be less than perfect when his pointer finger found Enjolras’ side instead.

 

Enjolras flew back suddenly, a strange choked noise left his mouth, cutting off his furious words almost instantly as well as Grantaire’s. Grantaire debated on whether or not he should apologize, he really didn’t mean to hurt him, but saying he wasn’t pissed at Enjolras’ annoying optimism wouldn’t be too far from the truth--

 

_ “Don’t.”  _ Enjolras’s hissed, his voice low and serious. He didn’t sound angry anymore--well, Enjolras always sounded angry about  _ something or another,  _ but there was something about his voice that made Grantaire take a daring step forward, his eyes suddenly following him curiously.

 

“Why?” Grantaire asked, feeling kind of stupid for asking Enjolras why he didn’t want him of all people to jab at him like some crazy person. Still, the question couldn’t be taken back and the room remained silent.

 

“I just--” Enjolras opened his mouth, before snapping it closed. “Don’t do…. _ that.” _

 

Grantaire was smiling now, sort of. He was amused at least as he took another step towards Enjolras. He chuckled a bit, “What? Do…?”

 

Enjolras’ once angry and incredibly focused eyes grew wide as Grantaire slowly lifted up his hand. Enjolras swatted it away almost immediately, like a reflex action he couldn’t control. It didn’t exactly stop Grantaire from being a little asshole and bringing it back up and quickly poking Enjolras in the side once again. This time even Grantaire wasn’t prepared for the sound that came out of Enjolras.

 

It was a  _ giggle.  _ Like--straight up a horribly contained giggle that trembled past Enjolras lips as he ducked away from Grantaire. Grantaire’s eyes widened at the slight, almost invisible curl of Enjolras’ lips. Grantaire found himself stuck in place, his hand was up near his face and he debated looking over at it and seeing if it was glowing with some magical voodoo power that he never knew he possessed.

 

As soon as the infamous giggle came it was gone, and Enjolras was quick to cover it up with his stoic  _ I’m in charge and more mature than you  _ face. His breathing staggered a bit as he snapped, “ _ Stop that!” _

 

There was no denying it. Grantaire’s lips had transformed into a full-fledged grin now and his hands wouldn't stop trembling at his sides in excitement at his newfound discovery. He cocked his head slightly to the side, taking in the frazzled Enjolras while he still  _ existed  _ (because seriously--how is startled, frazzled, freaked out Enjolras a thing right now??). He quickly lifted up his hand and used his thumb to grasp each finger down until all of them cracked; Enjolras looked horrified. Grantaire grins, “Stop what?” He asked all-too-innocently, “This?”

 

“Grantaire-- _ Grantaire,  _ I--” Enjolras broke, a laugh coursing through his chest and out his mouth as Grantaire took a playful jab at one of his ribs. Enjolras stumbled backwards, suddenly his usual, always-pissed-as-hell look was struggling to remain on his face, “This isn’t, you can’t just-- _ ha”  _ He let out a whisp of air from his lungs as Grantaire successfully landed two fingers at his side. “ _ STOP!  _ I don’t like being--”

 

“ _ Ticklish _ ?” Grantaire finished, now giggling himself. Both his hands were in the air now. Like weapons ready for battle. He made quick steps towards Enjolras who was backing away from him like he was a demon spawn, the slight quirk of his lips was the only thing making Grantaire eager for more, “Who knew our great leader had such an  _ adorable _ weakness?”

 

Enjolras suddenly scowled at him, “It’s  _ not  _ a  _ weakness. I’m not tickil--heh.”  _

 

Enjolras was silenced by Grantaire’s fingers gently pushing against his abdomen. Enjolras recoiled, his hands going over his stomach in protection as his chest shook with laughter.  _ Laughter--as in there is a real-life smile on Enjolras’ face.  _ Grantaire couldn’t help but drink up the sight, imbedding it into his memory to never forget and cherish while he could.

 

He should stop. That was obvious enough. Grantaire is an asshole, that he will admit to anyone who asked, but  _ this?  _ He should’ve stopped when he accidently jabbed Enjolras in the side during their  _ fight _ \--yes, that's right they were  _ fighting  _ and  _ yelling  _ only moments ago--but Grantaire  _ is only human.  _ With human needs and urges. 

 

He continued poking Enjolras who was soon red in the cheeks, a color not much different from his bright red sweater. Tears were brimming his eyes as he struggled to contain his laughter while desperately holding onto the scowl that was practically wearing away and was soon nonexistent on his face. Grantaire was pretty sure Enjolras was yelling something about consent and basic human rights through choked gasps of laughters, but he was too invested in Enjolras’ smile and the sound of Enjolras’ laugh to really pay attention.

 

And here he was only minutes before claiming that Enjolras’  _ I’m going to murder you and stuff your body in a dumpster   _ face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

 

The way Enjolras’ eyes crinkled together, his fierce eyes becoming nothing but tiny slits was more than just adorable. It’s child-like and made Enjolras, who already looked like some greek god when they were in highschool, look and seem ever  _ younger.  _ His lips were drawn back, perfectly pulled across his cheeks to expose his white, gleaming teeth. His forehead wrinkled, but not in the way that it does when he was mad and telling Grantaire to shut the hell up during their meetings, but in a way that somehow made Grantaire’s heart clench in his chest at how easy it looked for Enjolras’ entire face to change just by smiling.  _ His smile _ \--whether he wanted to show it or not--was nothing like Grantaire had ever seen before and just one look filled him up twice as full as an angered glare from Enjolras ever did.

 

_ Maybe he wasn't as much of a raging masochist as he once believed.  _

 

Enjolras' shoulders were hunched over, bringing his taller frame down to Grantaire’s level and evidently giving him more access to poke at his sides despite Enjolras’ now half-assed attempts at stopping him. His cheeks were a rosy red and the tears glistening in his eyes dare to run down his cheeks by the time Grantaire heard the shattering of glass from behind him.

 

He turned around towards the commotion only to see Bossuet standing near the head of the table, his jaw dropped in shock and multiple glass shards surrounding his feet. Grantaire resisted the urge to slap his hand over his forehead and scold his friend for his incapability to avoid breaking whatever he touched when suddenly-- _ suddenly  _ he was pulled back into the real world. The real world where him and Enjolras had been yelling at each other for a solid three minutes, sneering and glaring at one another, and then suddenly  _ they weren’t.  _ Nope, in fact, he had backed Enjolras into the wall on the other side of the room and--you guessed it-- _ fucking tickled him. Made him laugh till he was almost crying. Got him to smile. Yep, cause all of that happens on a regular basis. _

 

He couldn’t even blame the looks he was receiving from everyone at the table--all perfectly matching the look on Bossuet’s face, even Eponine. Silence seemed to ensue and Grantaire was sure it would never end until Courfeyrac suddenly started laughing. 

 

No, laughing was what Enjolras was doing only moment before--and hell, that even felt weird to say in Grantaire’s mind--but Courfeyrac was  _ howling.  _ His fists banged against the table, ruffling the papers and drinks around him, before he threw his head back and let the laughs flow out of his chest and into the open. 

 

Courfeyrac’s face was red by the time he laid an unsteady hand on Combeferre’s shoulder, “ _ Ohmygosh--’Ferre,  _ tell me that you saw that too right? Right? Or did someone spike my drink? Am I going crazy? Is the world real?  _ Joly-- _ where the hell is Joly? I owe him ten bucks." Courfeyrac continued laughing, his shoulders shaking vigorously at his sides. 

 

Combeferre, composed and reliant Combeferre,  _ smirked. What the fuck was going on?  _ “If you’re crazy so am I, Courf.”

 

“Count me in too.” Feuilly said, raising his glass.

 

“Me as well.” Cosette giggled, her cheeks a light pink probably from one too many drinks. Marus was after her, of course, followed by Eponine who only grunted  _ same  _ and was immediately followed by Bahorel, Jehan, the waitress Musichetta and--

 

“Alright, that’s enough.” Enjolras suddenly snapped, his voice somewhat back to normal as he took a step forward, brushing past Grantaire with ease. His breath was still a little shaky and he ran his fingers through his frazzled hair quickly, his fierce eyes once again locked on the rest of the Amis. “There is glass everywhere. Musichetta, I’m terribly sorry let me help you with that...Courf can you go get something to sweep this up? Jehan, be careful it’s right underneath you. Feuilly and Bahorel can you...”

 

And just like that Enjolras resumed his  _ leader  _ personna with ease, and no one tried to fight him on it. Grantaire helped, along with the rest of the Amis, pick up the glass shards and soak up the beer before offering to buy another round feeling slightly responsible for the whole ordeal in the first place. He sat in the back of the room, in his usual place with a beer and pencil in both hands, and didn’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. 

 

He went to sleep that night with a devilish grin on his lips and even more  _ devilish  _ plans brewing in his mind. As long as Enjolras’ smile was engraved into his memory, he didn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Bossuet got home that night he was still in a bit of a daze. That didn’t halt him from rushing into Joly’s room, a cup of warm tea in his hands from Musichetta. 

 

When he arrived Joly stirred in their bed, his eyes weary and his face a little pale. He coughed, “Hey B, how’d the meeting go? Did you talk to Musichetta?”

 

Bossuet only nodded, holding out the beverage towards Joly. Joly took it with an eager smile.

 

“So, what’d I miss out on?” Joly continued, now sitting upright in their bed, his legs crossed and his eyes on Bossuet. “Courfeyrac was texting me about how a fight between Enjolras and Grantaire was getting a little personal--I swear those two never learn. But he stopped texting me about halfway through the meeting. He texted me about five minutes ago that he owed me ten bucks though...Did everything end okay?”

 

Bossuet cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly, “Um, yeah? I think you just won the bet concerning Enjolras and R's... _ relationship?" _

 

“I did? What happened?” Joly asked, a little chipper that he  _ actually  _ beat Courfeyrac in a bet they had made months ago. 

 

“Um,” Bossuet scratched the back of his scalp awkwardly. “Grantaire tickled Enjolras...I think?” Or at least made him laugh his ass off.”

 

Joly looked at him, face unchanging, “You think?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Enjolras….and Grantaire?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“ _ Our Grantaire….tickled, you are aware of what that word means, right?...Enjolras?” _

 

“R didn’t get murdered, like you’d expect if anyone tickled...I mean...he was poking his side and--if that’s what you are asking.”

 

“Right…is that all you saw tonight, Bossuet? Oh, and while you’re at it, can you recall hitting your head before or after the meeting tonight? Or anytime today really? When’s the last time you’ve had a proper meal?”

 

Joly spent the rest of the night feeling Bossuet’s head to see if a fever was coming on and even at one point wanted to check his blood pressure  _ just to be safe _ . Bossuet really didn’t blame him. In fact, he welcomed Joly’s unbridled worriness with open arms.

  
  


~~~

 

Grantaire had a problem. He’s seen the light and now he was addicted to it. Completely and helplessly  _ addicted to it.  _ The feeling wasn't much different from when the first night he got dragged into the Musain by Joly and Bossuet to one of their meetings almost a two and half years ago. Also known as, the first night be heard, saw, and spoke with Enjolras and came home knowing that he would never be able to escape. He had become addicted to Enjolras’ furious and naive passion as easily as he had now become addicted to his smile. 

 

It's pathetic of course, but Grantaire had strangely become accustomed to that feeling whenever he found himself trapped in a situation that had to do with Enjolras. 

 

Of course, being addicted to Enjolras in general wasn’t  _ that  _ much of a hassle at first. Getting his attention took some time, but it didn’t take him long to figure out that all it took was scoffing at one of Enjolras’  _ save the whole damn world in one fucking night  _ plans to earn his attention. Negative attention, but full and complete attention nonetheless. Now, when Grantaire realized that he wasn’t only addicted to Enjolras, but that he also had horribly embarrassing and pathetic feeling for him as well-- _ well _ , that’s a different story.

 

This task was going to be harder, a fucking  _ bitch  _ really, mainly because all Grantaire knew how to do was rile Enjolras up. It was all he had trained his brain to do over the past year he had known the guy. Getting him to smile was about as likely as getting Courfeyrac not to bring up his  _ great  _ idea to do a nude photo shoot, featuring all the Les Amis of course, as a way to raise money for charities (and also maybe pitch in whenever one of them, normally Enjolras, gets their dumbass thrown in jail and needs to be bailed out. Bailing idiot radicals out of jail isn't cheap.)

 

(Enjolras' eye twitched involuntarily, “For the millionth time Courf, we are  _ not  _ hiring someone to come take pictures of all of us…” There was a pause, and Enjolras scoffed loudly, covering his eyes with his hand, “in the  _ fucking  _ nude--there I said it. There are other ways to raise funds.”

Courf sat back into his chair, pouting, “We’d make a fortune off of it. We could even make a calendar out of it!  _ Oh-- _ Jehan and I get July! It’s been decided. We’ll go for a jungle theme. I’ll set the scene--wild, extremely attractive ape man, with amazing curls, emerges from the bushes with nothing but a loin cloth barely covering...”)

 

So, after an extremely late and hazy night at the Corinthe accompanied by Bahorel and Eponine, Grantaire devised a plan. 

 

Bahorel smirked, drinking whatever foul tasting liquid rested at the bottom of his glass before slamming it down on the counter, “ _ Alright,  _ what have we got for  _ plan G want the D from E?” _

 

Grantaire nearly choked on nothing but air at Bahorel’s words, but Eponine just shrugged from her spot at the bar beside him, “We’ve got nothing, but to be fair  _ Capital R _ here hasn’t really given us much to work with.”

 

“You were both there.” Grantaire said, covering his mouth with his elbow before coughing into his sleeve. He wiped his nose, faintly aware that he felt like he was on the verge of catching Joly’s cold and the hangover he was definitely going to have tomorrow morning won’t make the experience any more pleasant. He continued, scratching the bottom of his stubbly chin, “I didn’t know Apollo was capable of smiling, let alone laughing. I just--I thought you two would be at least a little bit surprised, alright?”

 

Eponine tugged on a loose end of her hair, “Why?”

 

“What do you mean  _ why?”  _ Grantaire groaned, feeling like a complete idiot for even bringing up the topic. The incidental tickling incident happened over two weeks ago and Enjolras and him were back to bickering (although Enjolras did make a point to stay in his seat whenever they did--a good couple seats away, he might add). Enjolras was obviously over it, there was no reason for Grantaire to be so determined to make him smile again. 

 

It’s hopeless. A lost cause that was so unachievable the only person idiotic enough to dare tackle it would be...well, Enjolras. Enjolras loved to take on impossible tasks. And Grantaire would ridicule him for it, tell him he was stupid, his ideas were stupid, that he was a naive little prick and--and so on.

 

Enjolras was the annoyingly determined one. That was his thing. Grantaire’s was sitting in the back scoffing and downing as many cans of beer as he can before having to face the cold outside on his long walk back to his apartment.

 

“So, Enjolras is ticklish.” Bahorel said, unaware, or just uncaring, that Eponine had let go of the end of her hair and was now twisting her fingers through his dreadlocks like a child. “I didn’t know that about him. You didn’t. Ep didn’t. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Combeferre didn’t." Eponine grunted from behind him.  _ Combeferre knew everything.  _ "You have all the tools you need, you just gotta use ‘em.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He means,” Eponine leaned over, her eyebrows furring together in slight annoyance. “Stop trying to make Enjolras laugh like he is normal person. Cause he isn’t. Like, at all. You should know this, you tell him he is robot or a god at least four times a week and you only see him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Don’t tell him jokes that make everyone else in the room laugh because if they are laughing, he won’t. Especially is Courfeyrac is laughing--that’ll probably make him scowl because he won’t get the joke and Courfeyrac only laughs at perverted things. He is too prideful for that. Don’t saunter on into the Musain, half-drunk with paint all over your face, and smile at him and expect him to smile back. Because he won’t because he is a pretentious little dipshit with a five foot pole shoved up his ass. Don’t try and agree with him on topics that you obviously don’t agree with him on. He likes arguing with you, everyone else already agrees with him on everything and when you agree with him it just makes him confused and makes him think he isn’t challenging you enough and because--I mentioned the pride thing, right ‘Horel?”

 

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Bahorel nodded.

 

“So you see,” Eponine said, clinking her empty beer bottle to the side of Grantaire’s face when he refused to raise his glass up. Eponine just snorted and shook her head, “You gotta think deeper than that. Enjolras is  _ extremely  _ ticklish. It sounds too good to be true but we were all there--it was pretty horrific in an extremely adorable way. So, although going up and poking him in the ribs might not be the best way to make him smile, you can alway find new ways to tickle him that isn’t so...obvious? Perhaps avoid touching him, and backing him into corners, and scaring Bossuet. What I mean is--get under his skin, you’re good at that at least, but in a way that’ll trigger a,” Eponine made it a point by poking both of her index fingers on either cheek and grinning, “ _ happy face.”  _ She dropped the act, soon going back to her normal expression, “Not a  _ I’m going to fucking kill you by spewing my ideas and beliefs on gun control until your soul rots  _ face.”

 

Grantaire knew that face. It was beautiful, as always, but still capable of rotting the soul.

 

Grantaire huffed, “How? The first time was horrible and embarrassing enough.”

 

“You’re an artist.” Bahorel smirked at him, raising his bushy eyebrows high.

 

“Use your imagination.” Eponine finished, a triumphant grin on her face. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

**Plan one: Political jokes**

 

**Attempt one: Fuck diplomacy**

 

Grantaire wasn't sure how the idea came to mind. Probably sparked somehow in the back of his mind after the sixth time Enjolras had snapped at him to shut up after telling a knock-knock joke. 

 

Of course Enjolras wouldn’t like knock-knock jokes. Knock-knock jokes involve people banging on doors and for all Grantaire knew Enjolras was currently starting a campaign for door rights or some shit. He had to dive into Enjolras domain, where Enjolras felt most comfortable and well-rounded.  _ Fucking politics, the nerd. _

 

It was at the next meeting when Grantaire decided to make his first move. He felt confident enough. After saying the joke and the punchline twenty times while staring into the small overhead mirror in his car he would just be a fucking idiot to not feel completely and totally cool with this. 

 

He lounged back into his seat, waiting patiently for Enjolras to wrap the meeting up and for the meeting to fall into a more friendly gathering than Enjolras’  _ strictly business  _ persona. It didn’t take long, after Bahorel announced that he was buying rounds that night everyone sort of settled down into a friendly stupor with one another.

 

Including Enjolras.

 

Grantaire grinned, his eyes boring into the back of Enjolras’ curls. He was only a table away from his, Joly, and Bossuet’s. Enjolras was talking animatedly to Combeferre and Feuilly, and judging by the looks on both their faces Grantaire could easily tell that if he was apart of their conversation he would be striking down Enjolras’ points and plan one after the other.  _ Perfect timing. _

 

Grantaire cleared his throat. It was loud enough to catch Feuilly’s attention who answered by raising an eyebrow at him. Enjolras wasn’t too slow to turn around and face Grantaire either. His scowl was set in before he even met Grantaire’s eyes. 

 

“Good evening  _ Great and Courageous Leader _ ,” Grantaire greeted him, tipping an invisible hat off of his head. Enjolras frowned at him.

 

“You’re drunk.” He deadpanned.

 

“Indeed I am.” Grantaire smirked, he ignored Joly’s giggles from behind him and leaned in closer towards Enjolras who was still for whatever reason turned around in his chair facing him.  _ Weird,  _ this is usually where he scoffs at Grantaire, calls him an idiot, tells him to go home if he knows what is good for him, and then ignores him. Tonight though, Enjolras’ eyes were wide and staring at Grantaire as if he’s waiting for him to contradict him about something.

 

Grantaire had never been more thankful for being so sloshed.

 

“What do you want?” Enjolras said, his voice a little snippy.

 

“A question, Apollo, that is what I have for you.” Grantaire said, his head bobbing up and down a bit. He really did feel fuzzy, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, but too late to turn around now. “What, oh great leader, is the definition of diplomacy?”

 

Enjolras looked more than taken a back. A look that Grantaire rarely saw and made him break out into a shit-eating grin. Enjolras tilted his head a little bit, his eyes unreadable and looking at Grantaire as if he had missed something vital. He cleared his throat after a moment, “Diplomacy is  the conduct by government officials of negotiations and other relations between nations. Or a skill in which handling negotiations and people--”

 

Grantaire shushed him, both verbally and by lazily reaching up and setting a finger against Enjolras’ lips. Joly and Bossuet went silent behind him and from his peripheral vision he could see Feuilly wince and Combeferre sigh dramatically. He was more focused though on Enjolras heated eyes boring into his.  _ He was so dead. _

 

“ _ Shh, you’re wrong, E.”  _ Grantaire whispered, shaking his head back and forth. Enjolras’ lips were dry and clenched underneath the pad of his finger. He gulped, “Diplomacy, I will have you know, is the--the ability to tell a person to go to fucking hell in such a, a um way that they look forward,” Grantaire hiccuped, his eyes rolling back for a minute before focusing back on Enjolras who was still frozen under his touch, “to the trip.”

 

Joly and Bossuet couldn’t hold back their cackles of laughter from behind him and even Combeferre was smiling by the time Enjolras shoved Grantaire’s finger off of his lips and threw him a nasty glare, his face only slightly flushed from his obvious aggravation, “Shut up.”

 

He twisted back around in his seat, leaving Grantaire with nothing but the sight of his blonde ringlets, before Grantaire followed in suit. When he turned around, Bossuet was still laughing and Joly sent him a reassuring smile that Grantaire just shrugged off. Tipping back the bottle in his hand and letting the stinging liquid coat his throat, Grantaire was more than prepared to wash away the memories of his horrible attempt at producing a smile.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Attempt two: ‘Mr.Bush’**

 

Grantaire strode up, a sudden skip in his step, before lifting up his elbow and promptly setting it upon Enjolras’ shoulder. As soon as his bare shoulder dug into the crevice of Enjolras’ neck Grantaire knew he had made a mistake. He shrugged off the tingling sensations racing down his arm and instead hid it with a shit-eating grin.

 

“Hey E, can I ask you a question?” 

 

“When you’re sober I might consider it.” Enjolras mumbled, shifting his shoulders a little and knocking Grantaire’s elbow off on his shoulder resulting in Grantaire’s arm more or less wrapped around the back of Enjolras’ neck.  _ Shit.  _

 

If Enjolras was bothered by it he didn’t show it, just refocused his attention on the stacks of papers littering Feuilly’s dining room table. Most of the Amis had been kicked out of the Musain, Enjolras and Grantaire included, after a fight had ensued near the bar causing them to relocate. People like Grantaire and Bahorel thought the whole incident was funny and both left with bruised knuckles and at least one swollen eye. Bossuet, who had been accidentally dragged into the fight Enjolras  _ totally didn’t start _ , was the only one crushed by the whole thing considering how angry Musichetta, the waitress at the Musain, was when she kicked them all out while Joly sat smugly in the back watching them leave. Joly, while easily the happiest out of the Amis, could be a real dick sometimes.

 

Grantaire continued, “Oh Apollo--that’s a cute thought. Anyway, I was just wondering if you knew why there was so much confusion within the Secret Service agency after George W. Bush got elected into the white house.”

 

Grantaire could feel the muscles in Enjolras’ shoulders stiffen. His jaw visibly clenched together as he turned towards Grantaire, his eyes sharp and focused, “What the hell are you talking about? Do you need to lie down?”

 

He didn’t sound concerned, just annoyed, but Grantaire still smiled because at least he was  _ trying.  _ Grantaire just shook his head, tempted to then lay it down on Enjolras’ inviting, but stiff, shoulder. Grantaire, feeling a little  _ riskay  _ and angsty, leaned forward until his mouth was only inches away from Enjolras’ ear. His eyelids were only halfway opened, but he still managed to drink it the sight of Enjolras’ neck, hair,  _ fucking stubble  _ (believe it or not it was there if you were close enough). If Enjolras shook underneath his hold then Grantaire was too out of it to notice.

 

Grantaire’s voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “President Bill Clinton’s code name was…’Mr. Bush’.”

 

Enjolras immediately let out a hefty sigh. Grantaire could hear some laughter behind him and around the table, but he was too focused on Enjolras pulling away from him and rolling his eyes, mumbling something about about being a useless drunkard, and striding down towards the opposite end of the dining table. 

 

“Fuck,” Grantaire grumbled. His eyes never left Enjolras’ back when he called out, “Come on--I know you got your whole revolution to plan against-- _ fuckin’-- _ alternative energy or whatever, but that was fucking funny. Give me some slack.”

 

“It really wasn’t.” Enjolras said, looking back and shrugging causing another series of laughter, mostly from Courfeyrac and Bahorel, to erupt around the table.

 

Grantaire even smiled, mostly due to the sudden upward twitch of Enjolras’ lips, but Grantaire didn’t see a victory. He saw a  _ challenge. _

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **Attempt three: Taking jabs at Hillary** (real note: I would never take jabs at my girl Hillary. She is my mother, aight?)

 

The next week at the Musain Enjolras was ranting about the health violations of international fast food chains and even Joly chimed in about the overall nutritionally value that was not being properly provided to children.

 

It was almost too good to be true.

 

“Hey--Hey Enjolras!--Hey, yeah, what do you get when you order a ‘Hillary Clinton’ at KFC?” Grantaire asked, innocently raising a hand in the air from his sprawled out position on one of the Musain’s tables. 

 

Courfeyrac was already trying to hold back giggles when Enjolras directed his gaze towards the back of the room. He was already glaring, already thoroughly and completely annoyed and done,  _ it was beautiful.  _ He spoke through clenched teeth, “ _ Grantaire,  _ don’t--”

 

“Two thighs, a left wing, and two bre--”

 

Enjolras was already a step ahead of him.  _ Literally.  _ His hand was over Grantaire’s mouth before he could dare finish the joke and he was-- _ okay with that?  _

 

Enjolras’ eyes were fierce and laced with annoyance as he shook his head, ruffling the curls against his cheeks, “You  _ aren’t  _ funny.”

 

Grantaire, his mouth and partially underneath his chin still covered with Enjolras’ fucking huge hand, did the only thing he could think was  _ appropriate  _ to do.

 

He reached up and tipped off his invisible hat.  _ Again. _

 

Enjolras just scoffed, rolled his eyes, and quickly turned around. Grantaire’s grin widened when everyone around him began laughing, joking, and slapping his back while Enjolras’ struggled to keep a neutral face at the head of the table.

 

_ He was getting closer. _

  
  


* * *

 

 

It wasn’t until Grantaire told the fox hole joke that he realized he was running out of ideas. He found himself sitting across from Joly, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the solid, wooden table even though there was no distinct beat to tap to. He left out a wafty sigh before running his fingers through his mangled hair and shrugging.

 

It was a simple gesture, but Joly understood it anyway. He set down his mug and looked at Grantaire, “R, you need a new tactic.”

 

“I don’t have one.”

 

“Figure it out then. Every problem has a solution you just gotta find it.” Joly smiled.

 

Grantaire groaned, slamming his head against the wood and instead of beating his fingers to the nonexistent beat, he decided his head would work just as well. It’s just--Joly was too optimistic,  _ okay?  _ Grantaire could only deal with so much optimism in one day-- _ hell, could you blame him?  _ He did spend most of his days following Enjolras around in whatever great  _ Cause _ he thought was the right thing to bitch about.

 

Bossuet walked into the room from the kitchen and paused when he saw Grantaire hitting his own head against the table. He turned towards Joly, “Is he still upset about the fox hole joke?”

 

Grantaire paused, “Don’t mention the fox hole joke in my presence.” And continued.

 

Joly picked up his large, christmas mug, afraid it would shatter just by the force of Grantaire smacking his head against the wood. (It was April but what the hell, right? Never too early to be Joly? Heh. Okay, yeah, bye.) “You can’t blame him, R. Only Courfeyrac laughed and if Courfeyrac is the only one laughing you know you messed up.”

 

When Grantaire just kept slamming his head against the table, Bossuet chimed in, “What were you even going for? Bahorel told me your aim was political jokes and--”

 

“I was running out of material, okay? There’s only so many political jokes that would actually have the slightest chance of making him laugh and  _ not  _ start an argument with me about why the political view of whatever I’m trying to make a joke about  _ is wrong! _ ” Grantaire said, lifting his sore head up to face Joly and Bossuet, both of whom were desperately trying to keep straight faces. Grantaire groaned, “Must I bring up the KFC Hillary Clinton joke?”

 

“No, but Enjolras did have a point.” Joly said, taking a quick sip. “That joke shouldn’t even be considered an actual joke. Chillary Clinton  _ tries,  _ okay? Making a joke about her breasts instead of her political views just makes you an asshole. _ ” _

 

Bossuet nodded, “A big asshole.”

 

“A sexist asshole with very right wing views. Like, seriously--what the fuck does Hillary have to do with chicken and--”

 

“You can tell the fox hole joke ag--”

 

“No, Bossuet.” Grantaire said, rubbing his sore forehead. It hurt like hell, but it did get Grantaire’s mind off of his little predicament--if only replacing it with pain that is.

 

Joly suddenly laughed, “I don’t even get what you were going for. I mean--it wasn’t exactly a political joke--”

 

“It had to do with soldiers. Soldiers equal military. Military equals government. Government equals politics…. _ um, yeah? _ ” Grantaire said. Joly and Bossuet both give him a dubious look that makes his fingers once again sink into his hair in frustration. “Again-- _ low on material.” _

 

“Enjolras’ face was still priceless when you said the punchline though. He looked like you just stabbed him in the--no, like,  _ Rousseau  _ in the back.” Bossuet said, coming up next to a snickering Joly and taking a seat next to him. “Pure gold, honestly.”

 

It’s not like Grantaire could argue with him. Enjolras would care a lot more if Grantaire (even metaphorically) stabbed Rousseau in the back way more than he wound if Grantaire stabbed him instead.

 

Joly and Bossuet started giggling manically at the memory prompting Grantaire to resume his head banging in peace. Who needs a sturdy skull anyway? 

 

Joly eventually stuffed his hand in Grantaire’s hair, holding him down against the table before he could lift it up again. His nose flattened against the wood making it nearly impossible to breath. He couldn’t say he really minded at that point. Joly said, “Enough of that. One, you’re gonna hurt my table. Two, you’re gonna give yourself a concussion and you know I won’t stand for that. Not in my house. And three,  _ you’re gonna hurt my fucking table.” _

 

Bossuet sighed, “I love you.”

 

“I know. R, get up.” Joly said, moving his hand out of the way and tapping the back of Grantaire’s skull until he obeyed. 

 

“What?” Grantaire murmured, rubbing his hand along the side of his face, wincing at the amount of stubble he had allowed to grow over the past couple weeks. Grantaire might not be the cleanest person he knew (and he knew Joly), but he still had fucking standards. No wonder Feuilly had nearly kicked him out of their apartment the other night claiming he was only being ‘hygienic’ by doing so. Grantaire must look like a fucking dumpster fire.

 

“We’re brainstorming. Eponine isn’t here to help us this time. She had to go visit Gavorche while he is away at  _ naughty camp _ \--”

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes. Joly was as dramatic as they came--Jehan being the one exception of course--when it came to situations like these, “He’s in juvy, Joly.”

 

“Nope,” Joly snapped, his eyes going wide in an almost comical way. “I’m not ready to accept that my child--”

 

“Who is almost seventeen--”

 

“--is growing up so fast and facing the consequences of his actions.” Joly finished, elbowing Bossuet in the ribs to hush his silent chuckles. “He’ll be home before any of us know it. People have done worse things than steal TVs out of IKEA. Now then, back to  _ your  _ problem. What’s your next move?”

 

“A shotgun?”

 

Bossuet smacked Grantaire’s hand on the table, causing him to recoil and hold his hand to his chest. “ _ Ouch, fuckin’-- _ What the hell was that for?”

 

“You’re being insanely sarcastic again. Like to a point where it’s not even funny anymore.” Bossuet said, looking at Grantaire with sympathetic eyes. They all knew what it was-- _ horrid, internal self defensive mechanism coming in clutch. Aka sarcasm where sarcasm wasn’t needed. At all. Great.  _ “Sorry if I’m prying R, but-- _ Why?  _ I mean, we all know you wanna make Enjolras laugh. You know, the whole  _ G wants the D from E pl--” _

 

“Still haven’t agreed to that name.” Grantaire mumbled, but offered Bossuet a small smile nevertheless. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders and hoping that Joly would be able to decipher everything he is thinking just through the simple movement alone. But, when both of them remained silent, Grantaire let out a hefty sigh, “I don’t know--I just--I’m sick of it, you know?”

 

“No, we don’t, that’s why we’re asking y--”

 

Joly elbowed Bossuet in the side again before shushing him. He turned back to Grantaire, a warm smile on his face that only Joly seemed to be able to pull off during times like these, “Explain it to us, R. We’re all ears.”

 

Grantaire said, gnawing on his bottom lip, “Like,  _ I like the naive dumbass, okay? That’s been established, correct?”  _ They both nodded. “And I was fine with it, or at least coping with it even by--you know--riling him up? It was enough just to get him to yell at me and call me an idiot and--and I know how fucked up that sounds but--Joly, don’t give me that look like you wanna tell me this in unhealthy for the millionth time,  _ I’m aware-- _ but now that I’ve seen him smile, laugh, and-- _ dear lord I sound like the main character in a sappy rom com.” _

 

Joly was grinning from ear to ear, his chin propped up by his hands leaning against the table, “Uh-huh. Go on.”

 

“And--he laughs. I’ve noticed this since I accidentally made him laugh that one time. But like, he is low key about it, you know? Fuckin’ prick’ll laugh or smile at something Combeferre says before we start the meetings. Or, he’ll smile whenever Marius blushes really hard after getting a text from Cosette. Or--Or he’ll even smile at Courfeyrac sometimes when he does something stupid like...trips over his own feet when he is trying to outdance Jehan or--”

 

Grantaire knew he was rambling. Itis one of his strengths and one of the  _ many things _ he is capable of doing that makes Enjolras at least ten times angrier whenever he does it during one of their arguments. But he couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

 

“Enjolras is capable of being happy. He is happy around his friends, around you guys. He is happy when people comes up to ask him about  _ The Cause  _ on campus. He is happy whenever Feuilly can get the weekend off of work to join us at the Musain. He is happy when the idiots at Starbucks get his pretentious, hipster trash order right every once in a full moon. He  _ can  _ be happy just-- _ not around me. _ ”

 

“Why do you think that, Grantaire?” Joly asked after a moment or two of silence.

 

“I don’t blame him.” Grantaire said after a pause. He yanks his beanie further down over his curls. “I agitate him. I make him mad. I  _ argue--” _

 

“ _ R,”  _ Bossuet cut in. Grantaire looked up at him, expectant, but only finds both of his friends smiling across from him, but looking a little too smug for his liking. He reeled back a little in confusion.

 

“What?” He breathed.

 

“What are your priorities again?” Joly said, lifting his mug up to his lips once again and taking a long, drawn out sip.

 

“ _ Priorities?  _ Have I not been spelling them o--”

 

“You said you wanted to make Enjolras  _ laugh.”  _ Bossuet said, folding his hands and laying them gingerly on top of the table. He tilted his bald head a little. Grantaire watched it reflect against the small chandelier above them. It was quite mystical.

 

“ _ Now  _ what I’m hearing is, is that you want to make him... _ happy.”  _ Joly said, his eyes narrowing on Grantaire, but the small, all-knowing smile stays on his face. “Sometimes for Enjolras being happy and laughing are too different things.”

 

“Happy? Laughing? Smiling? Giggling like a fucking two year old? I’ll take whatever I can get, guys.” Grantaire said simply, but even against his own lips the words feel wrong.

 

But, by the looked Bossuet and Joly were throwing at Grantaire, and occasionally at each other, Grantaire was almost positive they have both already decoded his words. 

 

_ He’ll do anything to make Enjolras happy. _

 

_ Yep, that seemed about right. _

 

“I think you should talk to him.” Joly said suddenly, slamming down his mug.

 

Grantaire scoffed at him.

 

“Enjolras might not tell you what makes him laugh--mainly because he probably doesn’t even know what makes him laugh.” Joly said truthfully. “But, Enjolras will tell you how to make him happy.”

 

Grantaire couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, “ _ Hey Grantaire, stop being a fucking twat during meetings. Stop drinking. Stop smoking, you hoodlum. Stop calling me dumb, childish nicknames. Appreciate Patria more. Sit up straight for once, goodness! Be more serious. Respect the Cause. Respect your fellow citizens, you drunkard.”  _ Despite his cynicism, Bossuet and Joly couldn’t help but smile at his horrid--but strangely accurate--imitation of the blonde. “ _ Consent is the key to everything. Oh, and so is revolution and shouting about things that piss you off. That includes at you when you dare question my ideals, puny human. Destroy the government at all costs. Anyone who is not your friend is the enemy. Never trust anyone who can’t get off to any piece of writing by jean-jacques rousseau. Oh, and also respect--” _

 

“All you have to do it ask.” Joly cut him off, confident that Grantaire would never stop unless he did. 

 

“And please,” Bossuet threw in, a cheeky grin on his face. “No more fox hole jokes, alright?”

 

“Jesus,” Grantaire breathed, a smile growing on his face. “You are all a bunch of  _ fucking  _ prudes. A guy make one joke about beastiality and the kink shaming begins--”

 

“Talk to him!” Joly said, cutting Grantaire off and taking his empty mug to the kitchen, Bossuet quick on his heels already talking about their supposed date with the terrifying Musain waitress tomorrow night. 

 

Grantaire left their apartment that night, but not before wishing them good luck tomorrow and thanking them.

 

Joly beamed at him, “For what exactly did we do to receive a ‘thank you’ from the great  _ Capital R?” _

 

“I don’t know yet.” Grantaire said honestly, grabbing his coat and walking out of their apartment. “But it better be fucking good.”

 

“It will.” Joly promised him with a smile before closing the door and leaving Grantaire alone to walk home, trapped with nothing but his own thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

**Unofficial Plan #2: Fuck whatever plans you had before this and just come out and say it, ya tosser**

 

The next meeting Grantaire walked into the Musain with nothing but a feather duster.

 

Everyone paused whatever their doing or whatever conversations they were in and just stare his way. Courfeyrac’s jaw was hanging open and Jehan’s locks of hair were quickly falling out of his grasp, ruining the braid he was giving him. Bossuet, Joly, and the waitress both look up from their table in the back, confusion written on all their faces. Feuilly gave him one look from the bar and rolled his eyes in a way only Feuilly could--Feuilly could be a cold hearted bitch sometimes, but oddly in the best way, like he already knew what stupid thing Grantaire is about to do. Even Combeferre looked a little taken aback when he looked over Enjolras’ shoulder to throw a questioning look Grantaire’s way. Enjolras was the last one to notice Grantaire’s presence and when he saw him, standing with his arm raised and feet planted near the head of the table, his eyes grew wide.

 

Enjolras was the first to make a move. And that move was taking a large step back.

 

Grantaire almost smirked, but his nerves were too frazzled to do anything useful in that moment in time. So, when Combeferre opened his mouth to speak, Grantaire cut him off by releasing his grip on the feather duster and letting it clumber to the floor. 

 

Grantaire shrugged, “A truce.”

 

“What?” Enjolras asked, his face a mixture of confusion and surprise. Not what Grantaire was exactly aiming for--but at least it’s better than his usual  _ I’m pissed at the world _ face.

 

Grantaire shrugged again, diverting his gaze away from Enjolras and towards the top of his shoes.  _ He really needed new shoes. Yep, new shoes...needed new shoes...shoes…shoes rhythmed with booze...he could use some booze right now... _

 

_ “Grantaire,”  _ Enjolras’ voice pulled him back in. One, because it’s Enjolras and two, because his shoes weren’t that interesting. “come talk to me outside.”

 

It wasn’t a question, even if he meant it as a question it wasn’t. It was an order. And who was Grantaire to decline their leader’s strict orders? 

 

After a lengthy sigh and a few fleeting, sympathetic looks from his comrades, Grantaire found himself following Enjolras outside, his shoulders hunched and his chest clenching a lot more than he would deem necessary. It was obvious to everyone, especially Grantaire, at this moment Enjolras was just dragging him outside to yell at him for being a disruptive idiot. Yep, he would probably ask him to leave and go home to sober up with a stern glance and a voice that left no room for negotiation (despite not actually being even tipsy at that point). It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.

 

It wasn’t surprising, perhaps it hurt a little to know that his efforts at making Enjolras crack one fucking smile were all for nothing, but hey, at least in the end everything would go back to normal? Normal has to start somewhere--Enjolras getting angry and scolding Grantaire seemed like a fair place to start.

 

Grantaire only stopped when Enjolras did and was only slightly surprised to see that he had led them around the back of the Musain.  _ No witnesses to see the crime of Enjolras strangling him to death.  _ Grantaire can’t help but think bitterly.

 

The night was still young but the sun was almost completely absent from the sky. The wind rustled against them, brushing away the last clinging remnants of winter and preparing itself for spring. It was chilly out, enough to warrant at least a coat, but Grantaire found himself wearing nothing more than a black and green cable knit sweater that Jehan had attempted to make for him last Christmas. It hadn’t been a _ complete _ failure. Sure, some of the stitching was a bit loose and by the time March rolled around it had it’s fair share of holes; but the tattered,  _ I may or may not be homeless  _ look suited Grantaire more than he would ever admit. (And if Enjolras was the only one to receive a matching sweater, his red and gold of course, well than that was just a coincidence...Or Jehan was just being a little shit that year. Both completely plausible.)

 

Enjolras leaned up against the wall of the Musain, stuffing his hands deep within the confines of his unnaturally gray coat. Gray didn’t suit him all too well, but Grantaire didn’t dare mention it, not at a time like this anyway. Grantaire reached into his pants pocket and emerged with a packet of cigarettes and a single match he had snagged from Eponine before leaving their apartment. Bahorel had stolen his lighter earlier that morning leaving him with no other choice but to steal. Obviously. His gaze shifted slowly to Enjolras who was already looking at him, his face almost blank.

 

Grantaire gestured the box towards him and Enjolras gave him back a slightly irked glance before sighing, “Go for it.”

 

Grantaire frowned a little but nodded before slipping a cigarette out of the box and into his fingers. He eyed the match carefully. He knew he should’ve just taken the whole box _ ,  _ but he was in a rush and Eponine would throttle him if she found out he took it without at least asking for her permission. He spared a glance at the wall, practically his only hope of igniting this bitch, only to find it soaking wet from an earlier shower of rain. Fucking splendid. He bit his bottom lip and tried, unsuccessfully, to light it with the quick slip of his fingertip against the rough top of the match. After the the billionth time he tried it, he knew he was playing a losing game that would only end in disaster. That disaster being him trying to light a match while Enjolras just stared at him like he was some kind of idiot. He had seen Eponine do it before. Eponine made everything look  _ so easy. _

 

“Here,” Enjolras said, suddenly abandoning his spot against the wall and stepping towards Grantaire, “let me have it.”

 

Again. Not a question. An order. 

 

Grantaire almost scoffed at him.  _ Almost.  _ Instead, he decided to simply humor Enjolras and held the match out to him, “Knock yourself out, chief.”

 

Enjolras threw him a quick scowl before taking the match from between Grantaire’s frozen fingers. The contact made a shiver run down Grantaire’s spine and he found himself huddling into his sweater after the match had been transferred. He watched intently as Enjolras examined the match for a second, his eyes were focused and brows pulled together in thought. Grantaire couldn’t help but smirk a little at the familiar look before popping the unlit cigarette in between his lips.

 

Right before Grantaire was about to ask him something annoying like if he planned to ignite it with nothing but the fire constantly burning in his eyes, Enjolras lifted it up and placed the tip of the match behind his two front teeth. Grantaire’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as he lost all feeling in his legs.

 

_ What. _

 

With a simple flick of his wrist, Enjolras yanked the match out from behind his teeth, the sound of it popping inside Enjolras’ mouth making Grantaire’s knees go weak. The match suddenly ignited, bursting into a flaming light against the darkness surrounding them. Enjolras quickly ran his tongue swiftly over his front teeth, blinked, and then easily held out the match to Grantaire-- _ as if he didn’t just kill Grantaire a little bit inside. No big deal. Carry on, then. Whatever. _

 

Grantaire reached out to grab it, but the flame was already underneath Grantaire’s cigarette before he could get very far. Enjolras was surprisingly patient, holding the match incredibly still while it slowly ignited the stick between Grantaire’s lips. Grantaire only looked up once during the exchange and was thankful that Enjolras wasn’t looking at him, instead his gaze was still intently on the match that he began to carefully twist around in his fingers to let the flame relish underneath the stick. Grantaire could die, really he could.

 

“That’s good.” Grantaire said after a moment, the proximity of Enjolras being so close to him becoming too much for Grantaire to bare. He was almost certain that this cigarette wouldn’t be any help in calming him down, at least not now anyway. Enjolras pulled back, nodding and putting out of flame before shoving the leftovers into his pocket. Enjolras was no litterbug, not a even a single match could fog this beautiful earth he was going to fix. Grantaire took in a long drawl before blowing it back out into the night air, the smoke trailing slowly past his lips, “Thanks... _ Razzy. _ ”

 

“ _ Don’t call me that _ .” Enjolras replied sharply, regaining his spot against the wall of the Musain with ease. “And you’re welcome.”

 

A pause.

 

_ Shit. _

 

“So,” Grantaire started, the stick between his fingers already half gone. “What’s up?”

 

It was meant to be a question, but the way Grantaire said it made him sound like he was pleading. Pleading for Enjolras to get this over with so he could go home and go to sleep and totally not have dreams about Enjolras dressed up as Danny Zuko or John Bender lighting a match  _ with nothing but his teeth _ . 

 

Enjolras stared for a minute more, his eyes hard and focused on Grantaire like he was trying to figure him out. Grantaire tried his best not to squirm under his gaze. He failed. Enjolras said, “What is your goal?”

 

“Have none. You know this,  _ oh great leader _ .”

 

“Grantaire, be serious.” Enjolras said, shifting his gaze slightly to the sky before looking back at him. “ _ Tell me _ . What is your aim? What are you trying to achieve by doing what you’re doing?”

 

Well, here it was. The moment of truth. The thing that had been plaguing Grantaire’s weary mind for weeks now. Might as well come out now, everyone else already knew about it and  _ yes,  _ it is very strange and wrong for everyone to know about something except for their leader. Grantaire would just have to, if not reluctantly, fix that. 

 

“Trying to make you smile.” Grantaire said, refusing to meet Enjolras’ gaze and instead taking another long drawl. “Or laugh. Or just, you know,  _ be happy?  _ You know the song, right? I could totally see you as a Bobby McFerrin fan if you ever took a day off from changing the world and all.”

 

“Grantaire, please be serious.” Enjolras said, his voice so earnest it was painful. “ _ Please.  _ I don’t ask you to do a lot, so just-- _ please. For my sake.” _

 

Grantaire shut his eyes, grinding his teeth ever so slightly. He hated it when Enjolras used that voice. It was intoxicating, intriguing,  _ fucking unfair, and absolutely beautiful.  _ How could Grantaire ever deny the naive idiot when he asked him to do something in that voice? It was impossible; and, according to Joly’s hypothesis, not at all healthy.

 

Grantaire opened his eyes. His voice, while he was still obviously joking, didn’t hold the same amount of insouciant as it usually did when he said, “Oh Apollo, how can I deny you when you ask me to do so in such a way. Unfortunately though, I’ve already told you the truth. Take it or leave it; I don’t give a fuck.”

 

Enjolras’ eyebrows furrowed, “Grantaire, cut it out, you’re not being funny.”

 

“I’m painfully aware. Trust me on that. If I was we wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.”

 

Something in his voice must’ve made Enjolras stir because he paused before answering. Enjolras’ bottom lip had become trapped between his teeth as a hard look came across his face. “You can’t blame me for being curious. It’s--not only is it disrupting but I don’t see the point in what you are trying to pull. You humiliate me just fine during meeting when you so kindly rip apart every aspect of-- _ nevermind _ . But, I would rather you do it then when I’m able to tell you how wrong you are about what you are tearing apart then whatever you are pulling now. Is that  _ too much to ask _ ?”

 

“No wait, pedal back,” Grantaire said suddenly, flicking his cigarette bud to the ground, much to Enjolras’ dismay. He shifted his body so it was now facing Enjolras’ way instead of towards the parking lot ahead of them. “You think I’m-- _ humiliating you?” _

 

_ “ _ While I see your goal is to throw me off only because of your whole apathy complex and disregard for everything…  _ thing.  _ I get it, you’re trying to make yourself feel  _ empowered,  _ or whatever--but that’s not exactly what’s happening. You’re distracting everyone with your childish games when we are all trying to focus on-- _ ”  _

 

_ “Just answer the damn question.” _

 

Enjolras gave him a hard look, but eventually closes his eyes and sighs, “ _ Poking  _ fun in an extremely degrading and unnecessary way, more than you normally do anyway,  _ yes.”  _

 

“Oh my gosh,” Grantaire sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Enjolras’ emphasized words were enough to give Grantaire an inside look on what idiotic, wrong ideas were forming inside of Enjolras’ skull. “Look man, that thing that happened a couple of weeks ago...I didn’t mean to do it. You know that right? The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass you but you just looked--”

 

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Enjolras mumbled, burrowing himself deeper into his coat as another hurdle on wind passed by them. “I get it, R. I do, okay? It’s very  _ funny  _ to watch me snort and gag and  _ fuckin’  _ make a complete fool out of myself but would it kill you to leave the taunting out of the meetings? I don’t care what else you do--”

 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said firmly, cutting him off as good as anyone could. “You  _ honestly  _ think  _ that,  _ of all the reasons in the world, is the one reason I’m trying to make you laugh, huh? How much of an asshat do you think I am?”

 

Enjolras opened his mouth.

 

“Don’t answer that,” Grantaire said quickly, running his chilled fingers over the stumble on his face. He huffed out another breath, hoping to relieve some tension that the cigarette had failed to get out of his system. “Look, I just--I liked hearing you laugh, okay? I liked seeing it as well and--that’s it. That’s the reason right there. Embellish it in, revel in it--do whatever the hell you want with it. Just-- _ don’t say I wanted to make you laugh to make fun of you.  _ That is so far from the truth it hurts.”

 

“No you don’t.” Enjolras said, quietly at first like he was talking to himself, before clearing his throat. He was silent for moment, his lips were a thin line on his face, “All these jokes…”

 

“Sad attempts at getting you to crack a smile-- _ yes.” _

 

Enjolras said, “I smile plenty. I laugh too, you just never see it. Or you’re too drunk to remember it--” Grantaire wanted to correct him. Tell him he could be so gone that he could see nothing but stars, but never would he be able to simply brush off Enjolras laughing or smiling. Ever. “--ever happening. It’s--It’s not that big of a deal. You’ve never cared before so why would you--why would you want to see me--”

 

“Forget it, E. Alright?” Grantaire said suddenly, heat unwillingly rising to his cheeks. He couldn’t look at Enjolras, how the fuck could he? What guy can tell another guy he liked to see him smile and then look him in the eye and say  _ but no homo bro _ ? Grantaire should just be thankful Enjolras was the most oblivious person on this planet and leave it at that. “Just thought I would switch it up, you know? Making you squirm, yell, and rage all the time can get pretty repetitive. Thought I would try and put my skills to use in the opposite direction. Everyone else is already so good at it, but I guess I just don’t have a knack for it.”

 

Enjolras suddenly wasn’t leaning against the Musain anymore, not even close to it. He was now close--way too close--to Grantaire. Only a couple steps away with his fist at his sides in tight balls, “What are you-- _ you think you can’t make me smile?  _ Is that what I’m hearing?”

 

Grantaire froze, his gaze shifting to the ground to the sky rapidly, “Um...yes?”

 

Enjolras let out a shaky laugh, more like a disgruntled sigh of the sorts. His hand made its way into his hair, smoothing it back against the wind that seemed determined to mess up the golden locks. His whole posture was suddenly ruined and he was slouching, his eyes darting everywhere except Grantaire. He let out a shaky breath, it came out as a hazy mist in the cold night air, “You can’t be this much of an idiot. There’s no way.”

 

“You put too much faith in this citizen, Enjolras.” Grantaire said, not really sure what he did wrong this time but he was almost positive Enjolras could explain it to him in grave detail. Sources and all.

 

Enjolras suddenly looked up, his eyes very serious and glistening against the faint street lamp above him. He looked illuminated, like a blistering sun in the middle of the night. “Grantaire, you make me fucking smile all the time, you idiot. ”

 

“Like,” Grantaire said, his words sticky and almost nonexistent. “ _ Angry smile?  _ A happy scowl? A--”

 

“No,” Enjolras said, huffing a bit. He looked angry, but not the kind of angry he used when Grantaire rejects one of his ideas. An angry that he used when he was talking to people, spreading the word about The Cause. The tone, his face, his  _ everything-- _ he was trying to get people to understand him in the only way he knew how. Grantaire knew the looks, the mannerisms, all too well, “Have you really not noticed? Or are you just fucking with me? It’s so distracting every time I look over at you I...”

 

Enjolras drifted off, his eyes going a little wide as he took in his words. He snapped his mouth closed quickly.

 

“I…” Grantaire was lost. So lost. His head hurt but he managed to stay upright and somewhat coherent. “I’m lost. Like--I have no idea what you’re on about, man, sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry.” Enjolras said, lifting his hand up and gripping the bridge of his nose. He sighed, heavily, “I--I try and usually hide it, okay? Just because it’s stupid and  _ I know  _ it’s stupid but--”

 

“What is?”

 

“ _ You.”  _ Enjolras blurted. His eyes flashed in worry as if he couldn’t believe he just uttered that word. He bit his lip, shaking his head, “It’s you, okay? I shouldn’t think you’re so funny, I shouldn’t have to bury my face into my hands or--or leave the fucking room whenever you crack a joke or--or laugh at something Bahorel is saying. I have no right to feel this way. It’s unfair.”

 

Enjolras’ words burn into Grantaire’s mind like a flash of scalding white light. He gulped past the lump in his throat, “What’s unfair to you Enjolras? Sorry you have to sit there and listen to me ramble while you try and dismantle the government--”

 

“It’s not that.” Enjolras said, his hands falling to his sides in defeat. His voice sounded weak, unsure, a tone Grantaire didn’t know Enjolras possessed. “I mean--it’s not unfair to me. It’s unfair to you.”

 

“You thinking I’m funny,” Grantaire started, his mind nothing but silly putty and mush at this point. “Is unfair to me? Explain.”

 

Enjolras sighed heavily, his eyes daring to slide close as he shook his head, ruffling his curls. “You are distracting.” He said finally, wincing at his own words.

 

Grantaire huffed, “Thanks man, I try.”

 

“I can’t focus. I let your obnoxious, drunken rambling and overly dramatic laughing fits get to my head when--” Enjolras cut off, looking up at Grantaire with uncertain eyes. The gaze made Grantaire go tense with anticipation, especially when Enjolras took a daring step closer. Grantaire’s mind reluctantly flashed back to the tickling fiasco only a couple weeks ago.  _ Shit. _

 

Enjolras continued, his voice strong and firm. He was one hell of a public speaker. “We fight, Grantaire. We don’t agree and that’s fine, it--it makes my points stronger when you point out the flaws in them when no one else will. You force me to reevaluate and look at things from a different angle. Now, in saying that I will admit that most of your stances are wrong and purely just biased off of a cynical--”

 

Something in Grantaire’s face must’ve changed because Enjolras broke off, his tone becoming something more fluid and soft. “So that--that’s why it is unfair.”

 

“Still lost. Great speech though about how I distract you. A real tear-jerker, you silver-tongued devil y--”

 

“See that’s it! You interrupting me and tearing down my plans and ideals  _ should  _ be what is distracting me, but that’s not it.” Enjolras said, his words flying out like tiny bullets, each one piercing Grantaire and sending him farther and farther down towards the pit. At that point, Grantaire wasn’t even sure if he could ever stop falling, not with the look Enjolras’ was giving him.

 

Enjolras continued, his voice soft, “It’s just you. Your laugh, your rambling, your jokes, your-- _ fuck, your smile.  _ Everything. I can’t focus when I’m trying so hard not to smile back or--or--”

 

“Why don’t you?” Grantaire asked, his voice coming out so many weaker than he wanted. 

 

Enjolras face stiffened as his hands sway awkwardly at his sides, clenching and unclenching periodically. “ _ Because-- _ we fight. You hate everything I stand for, everything we do, I can’t just-- _ fuck.  _ I can’t just ignore that fact that we constantly-- _ constantly  _ butt heads and then turn around and pretend that we’re great friends because as far as I’m concerned  _ we’re not.” _

 

Grantaire gulped. Enjolras didn’t swear often, or when he did you better bet your ass it’s for a good reason, and considering Grantaire has already lost count of how much he has sworn in this conversation alone--yeah, it must be pretty fucking important. Enjolras considered himself above certain things like that--which ironically only increased Grantaire’s allusions of him being an almighty and all-powerful God. An allusion that Enjolras would scold Grantaire for whenever he brought it to his attention. Now though, while illuminated in the dark of the night by nothing but a street lamp, even Enjolras couldn’t argue that he looked like a divine being. 

 

Grantaire always saw it fitting that Enjolras was so fucking tall.  _ How else were people supposed to look up to him when there wasn’t a convenient pedestal around?  _ Granted, he wasn’t a walking giant like Bahorel, but still. He was tall enough that Grantaire had to crane him neck up ever so slightly whenever he built up enough courage to look him in the eye. And every time Grantaire looked up he couldn’t tell if he relished in it or regretted it. It was like looking up at the sun--at an extravagant being that was as beautiful on the outside as he was naive and earnest on the inside. He was beautiful, another entity on another level that was completely out of Grantaire’s reach.

 

Now though, the longer Grantaire stared up at Enjolras’ pale blue eyes, the more the allusion began to fade. He looked--human. Incredibly so. He looked like something Grantaire could touch, could look at, could keep close whenever he needed him. He looked beautiful, like always, but not out of reach.

 

“We’re not.” Grantaire’s voice sounded empty. Dead.

 

Enjolras’ eyed him carefully, “We aren’t, Grantaire.” And for once Enjolras sounded unsure of his own statement, like he was expecting Grantaire to contradict him but--”Haven’t you been listening to me? For once,  _ just this one fucking time,  _ could you stop and just  _ li--” _

 

“I love you.” The words were said because Grantaire didn’t think he could hold them back any longer. And, unlike Enjolras’, they were sure. Firm despite Grantaire’s frazzled nerves. They were out in the open, and the world kept spinning. It was like the shittiest rom-com moment come to life and for more than a hot second Grantaire was mortified, completely humiliated and just wanted to hop into one of the nearby dumpsters and never leave. But alas, his feet wouldn’t move no matter how much his brain screamed at him that making a run for it was his only shot as surviving this.

 

Enjolras’ gaze didn’t linger. He was still human. “You shouldn’t.”

 

Grantaire blinked. He didn’t know what he was expecting--but it sure as well wasn’t that. He blinked again, harder this time, and said the first thing that came to mind, “You  _ fucking asshole.” _

 

“What.” It wasn’t a question. Grantaire didn’t know what it was, but it was not a fucking question.

 

Still though, Grantaire gave him the best answer he could without falling apart, without letting the anguish or anger seep in. Not yet. Not here. He gulped, “ _ You’re an idiot, you know that? A fucking moron.  _ When someone tells you they love you at least have the common fucking courtesy to tell them you don’t have the same feelings--”

 

“I don’t wanna lie to you though.” Enjolras said, quickly, efficiently. His eyes looked like a thick sheen of regret had been laid over them. He blinked, “But you shouldn’t, Grantaire. You really,  _ really  _ shouldn’t.”

 

“Oh, trust me. I know.  _ I know, Enjolras.  _ You wouldn’t be the first person to tell me that. _ ”  _

 

Enjolras looked a bit sheepish, and something maybe close to pain, when he said, “I knew you liked me. Or--a crush...on me--I don’t know. Courfeyrac said--”

 

“Anyone could’ve said. I didn’t exactly try and hide it. My filter sucks ass and any other moron would’ve thought it was obvious by now--my horrible, useless, completely  _ idiotic  _ crush, that is. But lucky me I just happened to fall for the most oblivious revolutionary out there.” Grantaire said, exasperated. There was a large lump in his throat, so big that he knew within minutes he wasn’t going to be able to force words past it.

 

“Can’t say I’m much luckier.” Enjolras mumbled, eyes for once darting anywhere but on Grantaire. His arms came up to cross over his chest and his shoulders slouched downwards at an awkward angle. 

 

Grantaire took a startled step back because-- _ oh.  _ Those words stung. Horribly so. Way worse than he could’ve ever imagined--and confessing his feelings to Enjolras’ face had never been a top priority when it came to what Grantaire spent his free time thinking about. Hell, until the words slipped past his frozen lips he didn’t think it would ever happen. Now though, there was no turning back and Enjolras’ words--these words--will just be stuffed into the same corner of Grantaire’s brain where he stored all of the other hurtful things Enjolras had said to him over the years.

 

_ Can’t say I’m much luckier. _

 

Weird, Grantaire almost thought for a couple months now that maybe he had no need for that corner in his brain anymore. Sure, he and Enjolras still fought, but they left personal matters out of it for all of their sakes. Most of the times anyway--not anything that could cut deep enough to leave a mark. They focused on simplistic things, like teasing or scolding, but not because it was a necessity but because it felt more natural. They didn’t yell at each other to hurt anymore, but simply because that is how they always worked.  But  _ now--with those words-- _ Grantaire knew he must’ve misread the situation.  _ He and Enjolras ever coming to a truce? Meeting at an equal ground with a god? Foolish. _

 

Enjolras was looking up at him, his eyes wide and confused, but Grantaire was still struggling to remember how to breath. “Alright, okay, yeah-- _ alright then.  _ That’s--yeah, that’s about right. I’m just-- _ sorry E. I’m so very fucking sorry about-- _ you know.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. The anger welling up inside of him at Enjolras’ careless words, disregarding him like he was nothing when in reality that may be true. He took another couple steps back, each step felt like a weight being lifted off of Grantaire’s shoulders while at the same time a new, painful weight got hefted on, “I’ll just, leave now. Yeah, I’m gonna go. That’s--yeah.”

 

“Grantaire? What are you-- _ Grantaire.” _

 

“It’s fine, Enjolras. No really, it’s  _ completely okay _ . You’re entitled to your own opinions and I guess I’ll just have to accept them without batting an eye, hmm? I wo--”

 

“Did you not just listen to me?” Enjolras asked, anger rising in his voice. Something like indignation. Grantaire fought not to roll his eyes--his eyes that were becoming slightly wet the longer he stood out here. Shit.

 

He turned his back on him and kept walking, “Oh, I heard you. Loud and fucking clear, Apollo. I don’t think anyone couldn’t  _ not  _ listen to your smart ass mouth if they tried. You just have this way with words, you know? Like you’re already judging whoever you're talking to before they even have a chance to--”

 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, a little forcefully but not enough to evoke a reaction out of him. Not enough to turn around and slug Enjolras’ in the face even though a small part of his brain was  _ begging  _ him to. Instead, he was forced to turn around and once again face the tall blonde head on because-- _ well, his life sucks, that’s why.  _ Both of Enjolras’ frozen hands gripped Grantaire tightly, holding him steady as if he might fall or run if he dared let go. Grantaire couldn’t really blame him, he couldn’t really say if either of things weren’t true possibilities yet.

 

Enjolras’ cheeks were a bright red, but Grantaire guessed it was most likely because of the cold. He probably didn’t look much better. But Enjolras still looked like an angel--a very confused, very earnest, very angry angel. But an angel, nevertheless. Grantaire could feel his touch through his thick sweater and through the proximity of one another. Enjolras’ lips were parted and Grantaire had a perfect view of watching the mesmerizing mists of smoke escape from his mouth and float up, intermixing with his own.

 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras’ voice was soft, calm and-- _ who is this?  _ Grantaire could only gape at him as he continued, “Please, I-I think I came off wrong. Let me fix it... _ please.” _

 

Grantaire only nodded, slowly.

 

Enjolras let out a long sigh, longer than even the ones he managed on the nights when he was most annoyed, and began, his bright blue eyes piercing Grantaire like a dagger, “ _ I guess I’ll just _ \--y _ ou’re special, Grantaire.  _ You must know that by now--to me anyway. _ You complete me in a way no one else in this group can-- _ and believe me I’ve been told by Ferre and Courf how cheesy that sounds but they both agree it’s the truth. You-- _ you argue.  _ Just for arguing sake and I didn’t realize it until a couple months ago that... _ Grantaire,”  _ Enjolras’ voice had gone incredibly quiet, his voice filled with conviction and something akin to sadness. He ducked his head, his forehead barely grazing Grantaire’s while a hesitant hand came to rest on Grantaire’s chilled cheek and-- _ what.  _ “ _ you don’t mean everything you say.  _ You don’t believe in all the stances you take. Yes, most of the times you stand by your points and fight against mine and I respect that full heartedly but--sometimes, every now and again, you’ll make a point against my stance on a subject that some other shithead will bring up in the future because-- _ well, it took me fucking forever to find out but…” _

 

“I care.” Grantaire supplied, his voice sounding choked and ruined like he’d just run a mile. Goosebumps litter his skin and Enjolras’ leaned in closer, his thumbs grazing Grantaire’s cheekbone softly.

 

“You do. For me.” Enjolras continued, closing his eyes. “You care--you want me to succeed even though I treat you terribly. You fight me on stances you don’t even believe in just to make me stronger,  _ you,  _ a person who claims they don’t believe in anything, take stances on something that will contradict mine just to make me stronger.  _ You’re--why?” _

 

Grantaire hefted out a laugh, light and airy against the harsh winds gusting around them, “Well,  _ I believe in you, Apollo.  _ I always have and--who would I be to let the light within you die before my very eyes? Not when I can help it.”

 

And that, to Grantaire’s surprise, made a small smile curve into Enjolras’ lips. He opened his eyes, “I don’t understand you.”

 

“Likewise.” Grantaire managed a crooked grin as well, although his body wouldn’t stop shaking. Either from the cold or Enjolras’ thumb still slowly ghosting over his cheek--he wasn’t quite sure.

 

Enjolras took a deep breath, his eyes once again becoming focused as he continued, “I’ll explain then.  _ I like you.  _ I guess--yes, that is a good place to start. Way,  _ way more than I have the right to.  _ But--I know I’ve been careless and--and neglecting you by treating you the same horrid way I always do when I knew you didn’t always deserve it.  _ I knew you liked me and... _ instead of dealing with it I swept your feelings under a rug because I myself didn’t know how to approach them. But now,”

 

Enjolras’ arm that wasn’t reaching up now curved around Grantaire, his hand resting on the small of his back and startling a gasp to escape past Grantaire’s lips. Shocked, dazed, and hopelessly confused, all Grantaire could think to do is to rest his hands on Enjolras’ hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants as if he was holding onto him, and continued to stare. 

 

“ _ Now,”  _ Enjolras said, “I want things to be different. I don’t want to have to yell at you, or you yell at me, or fight---about personal matters at least. I want to know you Grantaire, it drives me crazy that I don’t. I’ve known you for years and I feel like I’m seeing you for the first time.”

 

Grantaire’s heart dropped, the fleeting feeling in his chest disappearing, “Nothing’s changed, Enjolras. Nothing I--”

 

“Nothing?” Enjolras asked, sounding skeptical. Grantaire would reel back to look at him, but that would mean breaking Enjolras’ stronghold on him and he didn’t want that to end anytime soon. “Grantaire when I first met you, you couldn’t leave your house without a flask. Eponine, no matter what time of the day it was or what day of the week, would have to drag you home to sleep off however much alcohol you were able to consume while not under her attention. You didn’t have a job, you didn’t have any passions, you-- _ you didn’t believe in anything.  _ You are outstanding and--”

 

“So what?” Grantaire asked, trying not to sound as unconvinced as he feels. “You like me now because I got my shit together? That was my choice, Enjolras, for me not--”

 

“I know.” Enjolras cut him off, his grip on him tightening. “I was going to say that it inspired me, but  _ you  _ Grantaire.  _ I’ve never seen you until I finally got my head out of my ass and looked.” _

 

Grantaire smiled, “Did you now? And what did you see? A skeptic ready to be fixed?”

 

“No,” Enjolras said, his tone warm. “I saw a beautiful person hiding in the shadows. A person helping everyone around them without a second thought about how it would impact them.”

 

“You’ve got to be fucking--” Grantaire cut off, shaking his head and looking up at Enjolras’ in disbelief. If there weren’t tears daring to run down his cheeks then, they definitely were now, clouding his vision. “You can’t just say that and-- _ E, you can’t--” _

 

“I do. I mean it. ” Enjolras said, and right when Grantaire went to contradict him Enjolras pulled him into a hug, his nose suddenly became buried deep within the confines of Enjolras’ gray coat. Enjolras’ hands felt warm and comforting on Grantaire’s waist as Grantaire brought hesitant hands up to Enjolras’ hunched back,  _ “Please. Believe me.” _

 

And Grantaire believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the terrible jokes, but I wrote this at like the beginning of 2016 and forgot to edit it until now lol. Hopefully this makes up from all the procrastinating I've been doing on my other stories. 
> 
> Also, I'm aware the ending is abrupt and plan on adding an epilogue depending on the responses this little piece of shit gets :)


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